


Shower

by unhappy_matt



Series: Behind Bars [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blackmail, Forced Masturbation, Guard/Prisoner - Freeform, Humiliation, M/M, Original Slash, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Power Dynamics, Prison, Whump, derogatory pet names, forced stripping, poor hygiene conditions, prison whump, sexual whump, shower scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27716555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhappy_matt/pseuds/unhappy_matt
Summary: Jun and Evans face each other again after Evans leaves Jun in solitary confinement for days.Their reunion is not a pleasant one - for Jun.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Behind Bars [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027204
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Shower

The light was crude and bright. After twenty days in solitary, his eyes hadn’t fully readjusted yet.

Jun stumbled forward, following officer Greene’s curt command.

A couple steps behind him, Greene kept his distance. Another officer might have yanked or pushed, but Greene was young, a newcomer; he must have heard of the broken nose and the knocked out teeth among his colleagues who had dragged Jun to the hole.

The bathroom was eerily quiet. His steps echoed on the slippery floor; the wet tiles captured the blinding reflection of the light.

Jun stopped and turned, without waiting to be prompted, and allowed the officer to remove his handcuffs. Greene handed him the small bag with his belongings.

They’d come to pull him out during dinner time. He hadn’t questioned it out loud, but something about that decision felt off. His stomach was tense and aching, after several days of Nutraloaf intermixed with forced fasting and the warm, bitter-tasting tap water that smelled the same as the one inside the toilets. His knees felt liquid and unsteady.

“Go on, Swell. I don’t have all night.” Greene’s voice was shrill and cracking like that of a younger teenager. He had to be just a couple years older than Jun.

Without speaking, Jun headed toward a shower in one of the corners. He was still in sight, but that spot offered a vague illusion of privacy.

He was hungry, but he didn’t mind being able to wash before everything else. He felt a weak pang of shame at how quickly he shed the dirty clothes clinging to his skin, how eagerly he grabbed the soap, how quickly his hand went to turn the handle.

Warm water fell on him like rain and Jun closed his eyes, throwing his head back. He almost wanted to cry.

He scrubbed himself violently, with his bare hands, reaching for every spot he could. The water soaked his hair. He massaged his scalp in long, concentric circles.

During the first two weeks, he’d been allowed out of solitary to shower twice. After, that privilege had been revoked, along with the intermittent denial of food and water. He had an idea where those orders had come from.

He pulled out the toothpaste and the brittle toothbrush with bristles so soft it felt like using nothing, and even that little bit of cleanliness was incredible. He brushed his teeth right there, vigorously enough to make his gums hurt, desperate to replace the disgusting taste that had stuck to his palate for days.

He rinsed his mouth and turned off the water again. He slipped his things back into his bag.

It was then that he started to become aware, once again, of how quiet the room was. Even Greene’s glum, cautious presence had become completely removed from his attention for a while. He glanced behind him; the young C.O. was gone.

Maybe an urgent need to go take a leak? Jun wondered if he’d be able to sneak in a few more precious minutes of warm water on his skin. He couldn’t clean himself perfectly—it could never be like home—but it had been the first true relief he’d felt in so many days, and he was tempted to prolong it as much as he could.

There was a sound of steps. They were heavier than the way Greene walked, devoid of his jerky, nervous uncertainty. Their echo bounced off the fogged up walls.

Jun’s stomach flipped.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

Jun froze. Glued to the floor, he stared at the piece of wall in front of him.

He didn’t breathe, he couldn’t move. He wanted to hold on to something, but his hands were now empty. _Don’t drop the soap!_ , his mind supplied, hysterically, and it had never been funny before and it wasn’t funny now, not when it was simply the bleak reality, in all its banality, and not the stupid joke made by people who didn’t know what they were talking about.

Jun clenched his teeth, refusing to turn around. The steps got closer, deliberately paced. Jun’s nose was gripped by the icy, pungent scent of the aftershave Evans used. 

Evans stood behind him, close enough that Jun almost felt the officer's breath on his nape. Or maybe it was the steam.

“Please, don’t stop on my account. You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Jun bit his tongue. His clean clothes, along with his bag, were on top of the partition wall on his left. He felt the full weight of his nakedness, the vulnerability of his position in that setting. His muscles were taut, locked, and his legs were shaking.

“Aw, are you gonna give me the silent treatment?”

His bag was so _close_ , but Jun didn’t move to pick it up.

“I was about to get going,” he murmured, knowing before he spoke it was going to be entirely pointless. “I’m done here.”

The tip of Evans’ baton slid up the wall, slowly, stopping near the right side of Jun’s head.

“You know, Swell… I could have left you in the hole to rot for another month. Instead, I pulled you out.”

The baton hit the wall, once. Jun suppressed a wince.

“It’d be wise of you to start showing some gratitude.”

Jun’s hands curled up into fists.

“ _Fuck you,_ ” he hissed.

Strong fingers gripped a handful of Jun’s hair, just above his neck, yanking his head backward. They’d cut his hair, two months into the beginning of his imprisonment, two of Evans’ colleagues, while Evans watched. It wasn’t standard procedure, it wasn’t mandatory—it had been _special_ _treatment_ , a punishment tailored especially for him, because Evans hadn’t liked how Jun had glared at him and talked back at the dining hall that morning.

It had been a choppy and brutal job, and they’d made him crawl on his hands and knees to pick up the strands off a dirty floor. Slowly it was growing back, nearly reaching his chin, most of the length back to its original dark brown now that Jun’s usual bright red dye had almost faded.

Evans spun him around, trapping Jun between his body and the cool wall. Jun was met with the familiar pale grey of Evans’ eyes, the wave of his light brown hair combed back and flattened with the usual strong-smelling wax.

The guard lifted a hand, running his knuckles down Jun’s cheekbone.

“Discipline and isolation agree with you, Swell.” His eyes wandered shamelessly up and down Jun’s naked body. He raised the baton again, trailing up along Jun’s right hip to his chest, then tracing an oblique line down across Jun’s stomach.

He slid it down along the ridges of Jun’s ribs, on the multiple spots where there were bruises and cuts, old and new.

“Prison has almost turned the little punk into a productive member of society.”

Evans pressed the stick into one of the bruises, a large, bluish mark on Jun’s abdomen, just above his pelvis.

Jun sucked in his breath, stubbornly refusing to hold the insistent gaze searing into his skin.

Evans pushed the baton between Jun’s legs, rubbing it in small circles along the inside of Jun’s thigh. He had suggested a different _use_ for it, one night when he was fucking into Jun deep and slow, on the paper-thin mattress of Jun’s cot inside the solitary confinement cell.

He’d rasped the threat in Jun’s ear and licked his neck, relishing the panicked way Jun had clenched down on him. But he hadn’t _done_ it.

Jun fought not to whimper—not to let out any breath, any sound that would betray the wild thumping of his heart.

Evans leaned closer. His whisper made Jun’s stomach churn.

“What’s wrong? You scared?”

Jun bared his teeth. “I’m not scared of you.”

Evans smirked, familiar and revolting.

“Oh, _there_ it is. Now I recognize you.” He leaned with his free arm against the wall.

“You still have it in you. Isn’t that right…? The _fire_.”

Jun pressed his back to the wall. He wanted to move away, but doing so could only leave him more cornered.

“I know you’re not scared of me. _Tadashi_.”

The use of Jun’s birth name, the name chosen by his mother that he had shed and left behind, was more invasive, more intimate than all the derisory pet names Evans used to address him. It was more violating than being touched. Tadashi was the name on his formal documents, but it felt filthy in Evans’ mouth, like a crumpled piece of paper that had been dragged through mud.

Evans pressed the baton to the underside of Jun’s jaw, pushing his chin up enough that Jun had to look at him for a moment.

The polished tip caressed the side of Jun’s face, from chin to temple. It felt solid, hefty, even that way. Jun didn’t need to imagine, to know what it felt like to have its blows raining on his body.

Evans' voice was repulsively sweet, dense and sticky like honey.

“No, you’re not afraid of what could happen to you. However…”

The tip of the baton touched Jun’s mouth, lightly, the perverted parody of a kiss.

“… I’m sure you wouldn’t want something ugly to happen to Delgado.”

Jun stiffened, suddenly fully transported back into the present moment, lucidly elaborating what Evans had just said. He had been trying to tune it all out; to find a way not to _be_ there. Now he was _listening_.

Evans must have noticed the change, because he smiled.

“All I’m saying is he could trip and fall down the stairs. Or maybe someone could jump him, right here, in the showers… Nothing fatal, of course. I’m not a monster.” Evans laughed, and swept a few wet strands away from Jun’s forehead. “But you’re a good friend. You’re kind. You wouldn’t want something like that to happen because of you.”

Jun didn’t speak.

Delgado wasn’t his _friend_. There were no friends in that shithole, only allies or enemies, that was all.

But he was Jun’s cellmate, and he had shared his smokes with Jun and they’d talked about their families, and—fuck it. Delgado had nothing to do with any of this. He didn’t deserve to be dragged into Evans’ sick game, he didn’t deserve to be injured. To—pay the price of Jun’s refusal.

Paralyzed, staring at a spot past the officer’s shoulder, Jun brought himself to nod twice, slowly.

The words felt like bushes of thorns he had to pull out of his throat.

“No,” he muttered. “I don’t want that.”

Evans’ triumph was sickening.

He slipped the baton between Jun’s legs again, caressing the delicate skin of Jun’s scrotum with grotesque tenderness.

 _“You carry that big stick with you ‘cause you’ve got a small dick?”_ , Jun had yelled through the bars as the guard passed him by, many months before, at the beginning. That was before he learned so much more about Connor Evans’ dick than he could have ever anticipated.

Evans pressed the baton against the underside of Jun’s cock, and smiled as he stroked Jun’s skin slowly and watched Jun’s body react. Jun’s cheeks burned, flushing with heat and shame as he felt himself harden. Evans didn’t even need to touch him with his bare hands anymore.

Evans nosed at a spot between Jun’s neck and his left ear, smelling the skin under irregular tufts of damp hair.

“Then I suggest you start being more cooperative, and finally show some appreciation.”

The baton was removed, sheathed back into its case. Evans slammed Jun into the wall, pressing a hand to his chest. His fully clothed body scraped against Jun’s naked skin.

Evans grabbed Jun by the throat, pressing avid kisses to Jun’s jaw line. His palms roamed Jun’s shoulders, his abdomen, squeezed his ass. Jun hissed, shuddering as Evans’ fingers suddenly wrapping around his cock made heat pool in his lower belly. Hate for Evans and for himself exploded under his skin like a wave, like the physical urge to vomit.

He felt the Evans' mouth a breath away from his, and he turned his face, clenching his mouth shut.

Evans grabbed him by the hair, giving it a hard yank again.

“Not like this. Kiss me like you mean it.”

He clutched Jun’s chin, rubbing his thumb over Jun’s lips. Jun’s teeth dragged against Evans’ skin.

“Or I could beat your face into a pulp. Suits me fine either way, you know that.”

Evans liked him _pretty_ —but he also liked him wrecked.

The other officers, Whitman, Rogers, Brown, they’d jumped Jun on Evans’ orders, and they’d probably even had their fun with it; but it wasn’t _personal_ to them the way it was for Evans.

No, Jun knew better by now than not taking Evans on his word.

Before solitary, he would have fought with all the strength he had. He would have punched and kicked and thrashed, and maybe Evans would have walked off with something broken.

Even right now, the opportunity was there. Evans was distracted, he had put his weapon away, and Jun wasn’t handcuffed. He could wrap his arms around Evans’ neck, grab the stick, maybe get his hands on Evans’ gun.

No. Not anymore. He could barely stand; he was dizzy, his ears ringing from the light and the steam. He was weakened, exhausted by weeks of starvation, disgusting water, and the maddening quiet. There was no doubt in his mind that that had been exactly what Evans wanted; to wear him out enough that he wouldn’t be able to put up a fight.

Jun smothered the urge to claw at Evans’ eyes, and he opened his mouth, allowing Evans’ tongue to slip past his lips.

He kissed Evans back the way he used to kiss Ethan. His body acted for him, even as his mind screamed. Evans tasted like cigarettes and coffee. Jun let him suckle on his tongue, endured Evans cupping his face in his hands, caressing Jun's cheek with his thumb like a lover. He wanted to snap Evans’ fucking neck.

He had begged Evans, once, to do anything he wanted with him except kiss him. Evans liked to claim his mouth even more, because Jun had begged him not to.

Jun nibbled on Evans’ lower lip, very lightly, with the faintest grazing of teeth. Evans moaned into the kiss, a satisfied noise vibrating from deep inside his chest.

Finally it was Evans who broke it off, panting, his immaculate hair now imperceptibly tousled.

“That’s better,” he crooned, patting Jun’s cheek. “Good boy.”

“I’ll kill you, one day,” Jun snarled. It was an empty threat, but he said it anyway, that old promise he kept going back to, again and again, like a religious chant.

Evans chuckled.

“You’re smarter than that, Swell. You want to get out. You miss your adorable little sisters, and your mom, and your boyfriend.”

Cruelty sharpened Evans’ words like a knife.

“You haven’t been allowed to see them for some time now, hm?”

Jun held his breath.

 _Ethan_. 

Ethan, who had probably continued to turn up dutifully while Jun was in the hole, only to be informed that the inmate he was waiting for couldn’t come meet him.

Ethan, who would never _know_ , but maybe he had his suspicions.

It was for the best that they had taken away Jun’s visitation time for so long. He didn’t know how to look Ethan in the eye anymore, with the ghost of Evans’ hands and mouth and cock all over and inside his body.

Knowing that Evans _knew_ this only made Jun sicker.

Evans tilted his head, again letting his eyes wander over Jun’s body with that disgusting, comfortable possessiveness.

“Mm. Maybe there’s something you can do for me. If you can persuade me, your visitation rights will be restored.”

Jun braced himself.

Evans grinned, taking a step back.

“Spread your legs.”

Forcing his shoulders to relax, Jun pushed his feet a little further apart. The wet floor was slippery against the skin of his soles; he felt unsteady.

“Good.” The warden leaned back against a portion of the parting wall, crossing his arms.

“Now touch yourself.”

Shame heated up Jun’s face like a hot iron pressed to his cheeks.

 _For Ethan._ For the chance to hear his voice, to see his face, to touch him even for a moment.

Slowly, he moved his left hand, wrapping his fingers loosely around the base of his own cock.

He couldn’t ignore Evans’ cold, steely eyes on him. His own eyes stung, but he blinked away any tears before they could spill. He wouldn’t give Evans that, too. Not tonight.

Evans palmed himself through his dark blue trousers.

“That’s right. Give me something pretty to look at, handsome. And don’t close your eyes.”

Jun’s skin crawled. His own touch felt alien, foreign, mechanical.

His cock had softened, but it started to spring up again, all too quickly, in his own palm. Jun stroked himself, starting off slowly, but it was unbearable. Too gentle. His toes curled against the cold floor and he whimpered in frustration as he jerked off more violently, struggling to find something to look at that wasn’t Evans’ face, something he could focus on.

His mind provided the sensory imprint of Evans’ teeth on his earlobe, a forearm pressed into Jun’s throat, Evans’ bending him over a desk and fingering him.

_“You make me so fucking hard when you cry.”_

He was fully, painfully hard, now. With his legs spread out he was split open, every nerve on fire.

It was just a physical reaction, he thought frantically, pled desperately to himself. Just an effect of his prolonged isolation, of his pent-up frustration. Because he missed _Ethan_ —but conjuring him, right now, felt like defiling his image.

He couldn’t believe his own lie. Even in isolation, he hadn’t been alone. Evans had come to him, and he’d taken him when Jun was too weak to resist. He hadn’t even needed to use force.

Grinding his teeth, Jun moved his hand faster, twisting his wrist in sharp, uneven motions. His skin chafed painfully against his palm. Evans’ hungry eyes never left him as Jun picked up the pace, fucking brutally into his own hand.

He came quickly, breathing raggedly, with tears in his eyes. A few splashes of his own warm semen spurted on his stomach and a few more drops reached the floor between his feet. His climax was sharp, white hot, more pain than pleasure, almost like a dry orgasm. Something that had been forcibly ripped out of him.

Jun gasped, doubling over.

His legs gave way and he almost toppled, managing to hold himself upright with the last, desperate remnants of fight he had.

He lifted his chin. His pulse rumbled in his ears.

Evans was still there, in front of him, much more corporeal than all of Jun’s nightmares. 

“Well done, beautiful. Not so difficult, was it?”

Evans took a step forward, still leaving some space between them. Jun hunched his shoulders and shrank away, expecting to be touched; but Evans didn’t.

“Congratulations, Swell. You’ve earned your reward… I’ll let you see your boyfriend. You can wash yourself, and clean up your mess.”

The outline of Evans’ erection was visible through his trousers. He touched himself lazily through the fabric, like an afterthought.

“First, though… come over here.”

A deep pit of dread opened inside Jun’s stomach.

He moved automatically, like in a trance.

When Evans’ hand guided his head down, there was a sort of mindless resignation to the way Jun dropped on his knees on the cold, hard floor.

Evans petted Jun’s wet hair.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Swell.”

**Author's Note:**

> Evans is a garbage person and that makes him a delightful whumper to write. Poor Jun. 
> 
> \- 
> 
> Yes, to no one's surprise I've taken a great deal of inspiration from "OZ" (one of my all-time favorite TV series), "The Green Mile" (one of my all-time favorite books, which I read when I was definitely a little too young), and "The Shawshank Redemption".


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